


Embers

by clairdeloon



Series: Dust to Dust [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mention of Suicide (not of a main character), Michelle Jones Needs a Hug, Parent Tony Stark, Past Child Abuse, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:34:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22133362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clairdeloon/pseuds/clairdeloon
Summary: “Fuck off,” MJ snapped.“No, thanks.”MJ stared at Tony through wild, slightly bloodshot eyes. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”Tony sighed, pressing his palms down on his knees. “It means that I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to make me angry enough to leave you alone, but that’s not gonna happen.”-A piece of the kids’ troubled past is laid to rest in an unexpected way. No one reacts the way they’re supposed to.
Relationships: Michelle Jones & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Dust to Dust [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1447513
Comments: 9
Kudos: 176





	Embers

**Author's Note:**

> Fifth in the [Dust to Dust](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1447513) series. This one won't make much sense if you haven't read [From the Ashes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20151595/chapters/47740975).
> 
> Warnings: Reference to past physical and sexual abuse, and mention of suicide (not of a main character)

_Ember: a small piece of burning or glowing coal or wood in a dying fire._

  


Tony’s phone nearly slide out of his slackened grip when the call ended. He managed to catch the phone by his fingertips at the last moment, although it really wouldn’t have mattered if he dropped it; no phone of his creation would shatter so easily.

Well, that certainly was _not_ what he’d expected when the call had come through from Metropolitan Correctional Center. 

He’d submitted a request to meet with Westcott a little over a week ago, wanting nothing more than to ream out the disgusting excuse for a human and watch him squirm behind the bars. He would’ve gouged the man’s eyes out too, if given the chance.

But this, he hadn’t quite accounted for.

*****

“Hey, gang, get in here for a minute. Got something I wanna talk to you about.”

Peter wandered into the room, his hair sticking up in all directions, as though he’d been running his hand through it repeatedly. He was still sporting a faint bruise on his cheekbone, which Tony had been certain was the result of the kid’s vigilante escapades, until Peter had told him abashedly that he’d dropped a can of WD-40 on his face in the lab the other day when pulling it down from a high shelf. 

MJ meandered into the room a moment later with her nose in a book. At some point, she’d managed to splatter paint all over her jeans, but still insisted on wearing them almost daily, ignoring the tall stack of new pairs that Happy had ordered for her. And how she’d managed to burn a hole near the ankle, Tony would never know.

“Sit down, kiddos.” Tony gestured towards the couch. “And close the book. The words will still be there when you get back.”

MJ rolled her eyes but complied, closing the book over her hand, and the kids sat side-by-side on the couch, looking at Tony expectantly.

Tony took a long breath. “I got a call this morning. About Westcott.” Tony paused as both kids tensed up; Peter leaned back a little in his seat while MJ clutched her overlong sleeve in her free fist.

“He was-” Tony cleared his throat. “He was found dead in his cell a few days ago. Suicide.”

MJ’s book slid out of her hand.

_Well, I could have worded that better._

“W-what?” Peter asked, staring at Tony, wide-eyed with shock.

Both of them twitched when MJ stood abruptly and stalked out of the room. Peter jolted forward to follow, but Tony sat beside him and lay a hand on his shoulder to keep him in place.

“Give her a minute,” Tony said quietly. Peter bit his lip and nodded before glancing at the floor.

“You okay?” Tony asked, nudging his arm.

Peter shrugged. “I don’t know.” He inhaled sharply. “I mean, I’m not sorry. He deserved a lot worse than that.”

“That he did.”

Peter picked at his cuticles. “I just wish I knew _why_ , you know?” He looked up at Tony. “I want to know what he was thinking at the time, with me and MJ. I want to know if he was sorry.” He looked at Tony imploringly. “Do you think he was sorry?”

Tony rubbed the side of his head. “I don’t know. I wish I could answer that.”

Peter looked back at his lap and muttered something Tony couldn’t hear.

“What did you say, Pete?” Tony asked, leaning forward. Peter didn’t look up, but he repeated himself slightly more loudly, though Tony still had to strain to hear him.

“Was there...was there something I could have done to- to stop him?”

Tony sighed. “No, Peter.” He tapped the kid’s shoulder, and Peter looked up reluctantly.

“I don’t want you thinking for a second that you were in any way responsible for what happened.”

“Then why-”

“Peter, sometimes people are just- sick,” Tony said lowly, pulling at the cuff of his sleeve. “There’s something broken or… or twisted inside of them that no one else has a chance of fixing.”

Peter frowned, his shoulders hunched up near his ears. “But he seemed so normal, at first. I trusted him. At least, enough not to hurt us.”

Tony swallowed, steeling himself for what he was about to say. He’d sworn to himself that he’d never talk about it, never _think_ about it, but for his kids, he’d break every rule.

“Peter, I’m gonna tell you something that I don’t usually talk about.”

Peter stared at him.

“It’s nothing like-” Tony cleared his throat. “It’s nothing like what you or MJ experienced, but it might give you some idea of what I’m trying to say when I tell you that none of this was in your control.”

Peter’s eyes dropped. “O-okay.”

Tony squeezed the kid’s arm briefly before clenching his hands into fists and pressing them down on his lap. “So, back in the days before I was Iron Man, when you were an even smaller fetus than you are now-”

“Hey!”

Tony nudged Peter playfully with his foot. “Don’t interrupt.”

Peter rolled his eyes, smiling slightly.

“As I was saying,” Tony continued, sobering rapidly. “There was a guy I worked with who I’d known since I was young, and I trusted him completely.” Tony pressed a palm over the center of his chest, over the scarred, uneven skin in the place the arc reactor had once been embedded. “There was no doubt in my mind that he was- that he was on my side.”

Peter was watching him with rapt attention, his eyes momentarily darting down to where Tony’s hand was pressed.

Tony dropped his hands onto his lap. “After- after Afghanistan, when I realized that I needed to change the direction of Stark Industries, well, he didn’t like that.”

Tony cleared his throat, hating how, even after all these years, it was still so hard to say.

“Long story short, he tried to have me killed, more than once, because I was standing in the way of what he really cared about, which was money and power, never me.”

Tony forced himself to look straight at Peter, who took a sharp breath, then closed his mouth, as though he’d been about to say something but thought better of it.

“I- I thought-” Tony clenched his jaw. “I thought that maybe there was something wrong with me, something that made me not worthy of- of having people who cared about me.”

Peter’s hand shot forward to wrap around Tony’s forearm. 

“But I was wrong.” Tony reached for Peter’s shoulder with his free hand. “It took me years to realize that- that the problem was him, not me, and the reason he… did what he did was because there was something twisted inside of him, not because I deserved it.”

Tony forced himself to maintain eye contact, and he gently pulled his forearm out of Peter’s grip so he could rest both his hands on the kid’s shoulders. He gave Peter a brief smile.

“I’m telling you this because I understand. And so that _you_ understand that this wasn’t in your control, and it was _not_ your fault.”

Peter nodded, his eyes still shadowed. He wrapped his hands tightly around Tony’s wrists, his eyes communicating more than he could have with words. He had this fierce look about him, as though it was his job to protect Tony rather than the other way around.

“Damn it, kid,” Tony muttered. He didn’t think he could love this kid more if he tried. Maybe he’d actually be able to say it, at some point.

*****

Tony found MJ in the gym, slamming her fists repeatedly against a punching bag. He let her continue at it for a few moments before approaching, tensing when he noticed the blood dripping from the torn skin on her knuckles.

“MJ,” he said loudly. She didn’t acknowledge him, and her next punch echoed loudly across the room. Blood dripped down to her wrists. Tony approached her slowly, reaching out to catch her next punch in his palm. She jumped back, staring at him with a wild expression on her face.

“You’re hurting yourself,” said Tony, still holding her fist. She looked at her hands, seeming only then to notice the blood.

“So what?” she muttered. “Who gives a crap?”

“ _I_ give a crap,” Tony said sharply. “Come with me, come sit down…” She didn’t resist when he pulled her along to sit beside him on one of the lifting benches.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Tony asked, holding up her lightly trembling hand to examine the broken skin. 

“Nothing.” She yanked her hand back and wiped the blood on her jeans.

“Bullshit,” Tony said mildly. 

She looked up at him, suddenly angry. “Fuck off,” she snapped.

“No, thanks.”

MJ stared at him through wild, slightly bloodshot eyes. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Tony sighed, pressing his palms down on his knees. “It means that I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to make me angry enough to leave you alone, but that’s not gonna happen.”

MJ stared at him for a long, long moment before suddenly bursting into tears. She pressed her blood-stained hands against her face, her chest heaving and shoulders shaking with her attempts to keep silent. Something in the way she tried so hard to push the tears back made Tony’s chest ache. It was as though she felt she couldn’t cry, that she _shouldn’t_ cry, and that the only reason she did was that what she was feeling was too overwhelming to cope with any other way.

Tony hesitated for a moment, then slowly wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer against his side when she didn’t immediately pull away. She didn’t lean into him; she didn’t react at all, really; she continued to cry almost silently, just the occasional choking sound escaping.

Tony squeezed tighter, and she slowly relaxed against him until her face was pressed against his collar and her fists clutching at the hem of his shirt. He didn’t say anything, didn’t whisper comforting words like he would for Peter. He just let her cry against him, loosening his grip immediately when he felt her straighten up.

She pulled back and wiped her face, which had smears of blood across it from her hands.

“I don’t know why I’m crying,” she said shakily, avoiding Tony's eyes. “I’m sorry- you don’t have to-"

“Stop that,” Tony said gently. “It’s okay.”

“I used to fantasize about killing him,” said MJ flatly, tears still thick in her throat. “I had a knife under my mattress. Kept thinking that the next time he came into my room I’d stab him with it. But he never came in again.”

“I would have been right behind you,” said Tony. How he would have loved to personally carve that monster’s eyes out with a sharpened blade.

“I should be happy he’s gone,” MJ said hoarsely, her eyes darting up to meet Tony's. “Why am I not happy?”

Tony eyed her for a moment. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know.” She drew a shuddering breath. “I’m not even angry. It’s like I don’t have the energy for it. Like my anger sort of died, and there’s no- no _feelings_ left.”

Tony wrapped his hand around hers and squeezed gently, careful to avoid pressing against the broken skin on her knuckles.

“Sometimes…” he stared, unsure of where he intended to go. “Sometimes things become so intense that we just- can’t cope, so we shove everything away, and it leaves us sort of...empty.”

MJ looked at him through watery eyes. “Sounds like you’ve done that a lot.”

Tony quirked his lips. “Oh, yeah, believe me.”

MJ glanced back at her lap, pulling her hand out of Tony’s loose grip to wipe her eyes. “I hate crying,” she muttered.

“Why?” Tony asked. “There’s nothing wrong with-”

MJ’s shoulders stiffened. “Natasha said the same thing. You’re telling me it’s not humiliating and pathetic to cry, but when do _you_ actually let yourself cry?”

Tony raised his eyebrows, slightly taken aback. “I may not do it often, but I definitely have on occasion.”

MJ narrowed her eyes. “But you were ashamed of it, weren’t you?”

Tony opened his mouth, then closed it again, and something in MJ’s face fell, as though he’d disappointed her, somehow.

“You’re telling me it’s okay because, what, because I’m a g-?”

“I’d tell Peter the same thing,” Tony cut in. “I’m pretty sure I have, in fact.”

MJ looked unconvinced. “But-”

“Listen, MJ,” said Tony. “Natasha and I, we’re both damaged people. We tell you these things because we don’t want you to end up like us.”

MJ laughed, the sound emerging sharp and broken. “Pretty sure it’s too late for that.”

Tony tilted his head. “I’m not so sure about-”

“No,” MJ said sharply. “You don’t get to say that.”

Tony froze in place, staring at her. 

“You have no _idea_ -” her voice broke off into a choke. She swallowed thickly before continuing. “What- what he did to me- it was- I can’t-” she shuddered hard, and Tony had to physically restrain himself from reaching out to comfort her, somehow. “It messed me up in ways that I can’t even- you don’t- there’s no way you could possibly understand the first thing about it, so you don’t get to tell me what it did or didn't turn me into.” She buried her face in her hands, nails digging crescents into her skin.

Tony waited silently for several moments, thinking hard. He opened his mouth several times, closing it when he realized that there was nothing he could say. That what she needed right now was for him to be silent, to listen, and to be there for her. He couldn’t fix this; he knew it, and she sure as hell knew it. It wouldn’t help her for him to try.

MJ lifted her face from her hands, her eyes bloodshot, but her cheeks dry. She exhaled heavily and rolled out her shoulders, and Tony reflexively mimicked her movement

“Wanna get your hands cleaned up?” Tony asked gently. She nodded at her lap.

“Your face, too.” Tony prodded her shoulder. “You look like something out of a B-movie horror film.”

MJ let out a reluctant chuckle, swiping at her eyes again. Tony wrapped an arm around her shoulders and walked her to the bathroom off the gym, stepping back as she washed off her hands and face at the sink.

Tony handed her a towel. “Come downstairs, you need antiseptic for those knuckles.”

MJ shrugged. “It’s just a cut.”

“Humor me.”

MJ rolled her eyes, her lips twitching slightly. “Fine.”

Peter was hovering anxiously in the living room when they came down, and his eyes sought out MJ’s immediately.

“You okay?” he asked tensely.

MJ was quiet for a moment. “Yeah.” Her eyes flitted briefly towards Tony. “Yeah, I am.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, all! I hope you enjoyed your holidays. This one wasn't the easiest to write, but I felt like it needed to happen. I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments if you feel so inclined.
> 
> Next up: Tony needs to be taken care of, for a change.


End file.
